


Anti-kink: Breathplay

by ash_carpenter



Series: Anti-kink [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Breathplay, Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 09:47:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2146152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ash_carpenter/pseuds/ash_carpenter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Next cross-posting of anti-kink fic  (series archived <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=ash_carpenter&keyword=Anti-kink&filter=all">here</a> on LJ)! </p>
<p>Sam always seems to be getting himself strangled by some supernatural beastie or another. Maybe there's more to it...?</p>
<p>Or maybe not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anti-kink: Breathplay

**Breathplay**  
  
  
Dean blinked at Sam, looking as astonished as if someone had informed him that being able to belch the alphabet was not a “skill”.  
  
“I’m sorry, do you wanna just run that by me one more time?”  
  
Sam sighed, wishing that he’d never brought it up. “Look, it was just a thought. Don’t worry about it.”  
  
“No, no. I wanna make sure I’ve got this right,” insisted Dean, holding his hand in mid-air like he could use his jedi mind skills to keep Sam from getting out of his chair and stomping off in exasperation.  
  
(He’d been honing said skills on waitresses in the interests of scoring free pie, and it was totally working, even if Sam insisted that his success was due largely to his “fuck me” face, whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. Jealous little bitch.)  
  
“You want me to choke you. Like, on purpose?”  
  
“Not _choke_ me,” corrected Sam, slightly embarrassed about how Dean was looking at him like he was a crazy pervert. Which he possibly was, given the fact that he was fucking the most annoying person on the entire planet, who happened to be his brother, but still. “Just...cut off my air a little.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s called choking, Sam,” pointed out Dean, irritated. “You should know, considering the number of times you’ve been...”  
  
“What?” demanded Sam when Dean didn’t finish his sentence, instead trailing off and staring at his brother wide-eyed, a horrified expression of dawning realisation on his face.  
  
“My God...Have you been doing it on purpose?”  
  
Sam shook his head, baffled. “Doing what?”  
  
“Getting strangled! By every damned demon, angel, shapeshifter, vampire, ghost and little girl we’ve ever met!”  
  
“What?! No, of course not! And I don’t get strangled _that_ often, asshat. And not by little girls. Well, only one little girl, and she was totally possessed by a ghost.”  
  
“No wonder you’re so fucking useless at getting yourself out of trouble,” continued Dean as if Sam hadn’t spoken, an almost twenty-year-old mystery finally solved. “You’re getting off on it!”  
  
“Dude, I do not get off on being almost killed by evil sons of bitches! Shut up!”  
  
“You sick, sick freak...”  
  
“Screw you.”  
  
“Yeah, you do that too. Sicko.”  
  
Sam glared at Dean, jaw clenching. “First off, pot calling the kettle black, don’tcha think? At least I don’t like my baby brother paddling my ass.”  
  
“Hey!” protested Dean, blushing very fetchingly. “Neither do I; it totally sucks!”  
  
Well, it had that first time. It wasn’t his fault that Sam had insisted on doing it again and it had got sort of hot and he clearly hadn’t been as sneaky as he’d thought in hiding his enjoyment. Coming all over Sam’s thigh had probably been a bit of a clue.  
  
“And secondly, I don’t like getting strangled on hunts! Idiot. I just read that oxygen deprivation when you’re turned on is really hot, and it’s something that I would only ever do with someone I trusted with my life, which means _you_.” Or Bobby or Cas, but that was just sick and wrong. Er, unlike incest, obviously. Ahem. “But if you’re gonna be a dick about it, even though I’m, like, laying myself all vulnerable to you, then fine. See if I care.”  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow. “Are you sulking because I don’t want to choke you?”  
  
“No,” pouted Sam, heaving a huge, put-upon sigh.  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “Okay, I get it. You’re a massive girl and you love me, so it’s okay if I do something dangerous with you, yadda yadda.”  
  
“Not exactly how I’d phrase it...”  
  
“But I need to think about this one, okay? It’s a bit close to the bone, you know?”  
  
Sam’s expression softened. He knew that Dean found it difficult to get himself out of the “protect Sammy at all costs” mindset, and he did appreciate the proof (however oblique) that his big brother was just as girly and in love as he was.  
  
However, in the interests of getting laid sometime in the near future, he decided not to mention it.  
  
“Sure. Take as long as you need.”  
  
“Thanks.” Dean paused for a moment, then looked at Sam with a serious expression on his face. “Just so that we’re absolutely clear, we’re still gonna fuck like normal while I’m thinking about it.”  
  
Sam raised his eyebrows, amused at Dean’s determined scowl, as if Sam had any intention of cutting him off. Ever. (Well, unless he was a complete tool, and that would only be temporary.) He nodded, plastering on an equally serious look. “Right, yeah, like normal. We’ll fuck like all the other normal gay brothers.”  
  
“Oh, shut up.”  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Sam cried out as the skinwalker (finally back in its human form, thank God; that killer llama had been totally disturbing) crashed into him and sent them both thudding to the ground. His shout was cut off and transformed into a pained wheeze as the bastard wrapped his hands around his throat.  
  
Sam flailed around, trying to locate his gun and deciding that bungee ropes were sounding more and more appealing every day. Failing to grasp anything of use, he struck the creature, but his disadvantageous position and oxygen deprivation were taking their toll. His vision was starting to grey around the edges.  
  
He blinked his eyes to clear his sight and searched out Dean, spotting him immediately and trying to gasp in shock, only to produce a pathetic and rather embarrassing squeak.  
  
The dickwad was just standing there, staring!  
  
Sam managed to gulp in enough air to rasp, “Little help here?!”  
  
Marvelling that Sam could sound bitchy and prissy even with no breath, Dean looked at him with consideration and then said, “You sure?”  
  
“WHAT?” snapped Sam. “Of course I’m s-” The rest was lost in a gargled bleat as the skinwalker got back down to business, but Dean was pretty sure that he could see his brother mouthing a few choice phrases involving improbable anatomical insertions.  
  
Shrugging, Dean lifted his gun and fired two shots into the skinwalker’s head, before strolling over and kicking its dead body off Sam.  
  
Sam was trying desperately to say something (and something pissy judging from the look on his face), but fortunately he didn’t have enough air to manage it yet. He did however squeak in outrage as Dean suddenly and inexplicably groped his crotch.  
  
“Wha-...oo...dun?” he coughed, glowering darkly and trying to kick his brother’s leg.  
  
“Just checking,” replied Dean.  
  
“Checking...wh...what?” gasped Sam, equal parts bewildered and furious.  
  
“You know.” Dean elaborated with a gesture that was entirely unhelpful but pretty obscene and Sam narrowed his eyes at him.  
  
He’d recovered enough to sit up, hissing irritably, “Clearly I don’t.”  
  
“Whether you were enjoying it.”  
  
“Whether I...what?” Sam blinked a couple of times, mouth opening and closing as he fought to conjure a suitable response. He made a ‘what the fuck?’ face at his apparently retarded brother, slapping his hands away when he tried to help him up.  
  
“Hey, you’re the one who said you wanted to be strangled, dude. I thought maybe you might be, you know, getting off on it.”  
  
“You thought I might be getting off on being choked to death by a skinwalker?” clarified Sam incredulously. When Dean just shrugged, Sam punched him in the shoulder, not quite as hard as he’d have liked to. “You total douchebag!”  
  
“What? I thought you liked it!”  
  
“You’re such a dick,” grumbled Sam, pushing himself up to his feet. “I can’t believe you –”  
  
He was cut off by the sound of his phone ringing and he glared at Dean as he snatched it out of his pocket to answer it. “What?! Oh, hey Bobby...Nothing, nothing. Just Dean being an asshole; he almost let the skinwalker kill me before he ganked it!...Huh? Why?...Well, because he thought I was getting o-...er...I mean...”  
  
Dean watched with amusement as Sam coughed and attempted the lamest subject change ever.  
  
At least he knew now that Sam’s issues weren’t too dangerous and deep-seated; it would have been too much of a risk to indulge him if it had transpired that any old beast strangling him got his juices flowing. But fortunately no, he just wanted his older brother to cut off his air while he was fucking him.  
  
Yeah. Totally normal.  
  
Dean decided that he’d let Sam have what he wanted, and he gave him a smile full of promise as he slid an arm around his waist.  
  
“OW!”  
  
Jumping up and down and trying to shake out his stamped-on toe while Sam stormed off, still fuming to Bobby, Dean realised that he might have to wait a few days before attempting breathplay. Or, indeed, getting laid at all.  
  
Jesus, Sam was a little bitch sometimes. Over-dramatic, much?  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Several days and a lot of ass-kissing later, Dean finally managed to get back into Sam’s pants.  
  
“Oh, thank God,” he breathed when Sam crawled up onto the bed, armed with a smirk and an eyefuck. He launched himself forward and grabbed hold of Sam, flipping him onto his back and scrambling on top of him, already grinding eagerly against his thigh.  
  
“Woah! Easy, dude,” laughed Sam, wishing he’d thought of this when he’d been on a mission to get Dean to come in his pants.  
  
With a supreme effort, Dean managed to get himself back under control. He kissed Sam’s neck and jaw and chin, working his way to his mouth and then opening it with a lick, delving inside. God, he was horny. And glad to be back in his brother’s good graces (even if he did think that Sam had totally overreacted to his minor misjudgement in letting a monster of the week throttle him).  
  
“Got something for you, Sammy.”  
  
“Yeah, I can feel that,” grinned Sam, arching into Dean’s body and sliding his hip along the hard length of Dean’s dick.  
  
Dean swore at the friction, mindlessly rutting for a moment before he shook his head and said, “No. I’ve been thinking and I’m gonna give you what you want, baby.”  
  
“Baby? Man, you must be horny,” muttered Sam before raising a questioning eyebrow. “What do you mean?”  
  
“Gonna wrap my hands around your neck and squeeze, make you lightheaded and getting you coming like a freight train...” purred Dean, nipping over Sam’s chest and pulling at his clothes. “Wanna fuck you so bad.”  
  
Sam moaned loudly, lust shooting through him in a hot wave. He kissed Dean hard, shifting beneath his hands to assist with the divestment of his clothes. God, those _hands_. Rough and calloused, strong and hard and violent and oh so gentle in just the right circumstances. Sam was pretty sure they were half the reason that he wanted to indulge in breathplay in the first place; just the idea of having them wrapped around his throat had his dick filling out in record time.  
  
As soon as they were both naked, following a volley of impatient curses from Dean, Sam settled on his back and spread his legs, letting his brother slip between them.   
  
“Oh, yeah,” murmured Sam as Dean thrust against him, their cocks sliding together. He kissed Dean and wrapped his legs around him, drawing him even closer and panting as things got hot and heavy. “So sexy, Dean. Can’t wait to get you inside. Want you to fu-BLEARGH!”  
  
Sam’s eyes bugged as Dean’s hands encircled his neck, squeezing tightly and cutting off his air supply completely and rather painfully. As soon as his brain caught up, mostly throwing out panicked static, Sam flailed wildly, turning his wide eyes on Dean to try to alert him to the fact that he was doing it wrong.  
  
Dean felt Sam buck underneath him, hands gripping tightly at his shoulders and he smirked triumphantly. Nudging his cock up against Sam’s ass, he ground sexily against him and flexed his hands.  
  
“Oh yeah, you like that, don’t you?” he panted.  
  
Sam tried to shake his head in a vehement no, but he was trapped by Dean’s hands and he ended up squirming ineffectively. A manoeuvre that his mentally challenged brother obviously mistook for pleasure, given that he winked lasciviously and started rubbing off against him.  
  
Dean spotted that Sam’s face was quite red and that his mouth was opening and closing like a goldfish while his body jerked. Evidently, he was giving the little perv exactly what he wanted. He was such an awesome brother.  
  
There was drool running down his chin, which was kind of gross, but Dean was willing to put up with it as long as...Hey! What the hell?!  
  
“Dude, I know this is turning your crank and all, but you just hit me! Can you be a bit more careful, please? Jeez.”  
  
Sam managed to contort his strangled features into the blackest bitchface he could muster, thinking as hard as he could at Dean ( _This is not fun! You’re practically killing me, you total jerk!)_ and wondering what the fuck use his supposed psychic powers were if he couldn’t even communicate the fact that he was _dying_ rather than getting off. Dean was the worst damned brother _ever_.  
  
Dean slotted his body more firmly against Sam’s, hoping to stop him thrashing around so much (and he must really be enjoying himself, the lucky son of a gun), and realised with astonishment that he couldn’t feel the hard line of his erection anymore.  
  
“Sam, what’s wrong? You’re not hard!”  
  
Sam tried to nod. _Yeah-huh. Idiot._  
  
“You’re, like, limp,” continued Dean in horrified fascination, as if he couldn’t fathom what had happened and was concerned that it might be a harbinger for the next apocalypse. His hands loosened slightly.  
  
“Ats us oor okin ee, ucnar!” wheezed Sam, breath ripping harshly in and out of his mouth.  
  
“What?”  
  
Sam flapped his hands pointedly at his throat with a glare and Dean released his hold.  
  
Sam heaved in several huge lungfuls of air and spat, “That’s because you’re choking me, fucktard!”  
  
“Ohhh,” nodded Dean as he finally managed to understand what Sam had been saying. “I was _choking_ you...Wait, what? I thought that was what you wanted?”  
  
Gritting his teeth, wiping the slobber off his face, Sam snatched the pillow from beside him and started beating Dean with it, smacking him upside the head.  
  
“Ow, Jesus fuck!”  
  
And, yeah, he kept his gun in his pillowcase. What of it?  
  
“You’re not supposed to just launch in and actually try to murder me with oxygen deprivation, Dean! You’re supposed to wait until I’m close to orgasm, then just cut off my air a little so that I get lightheaded and all the sensations are heightened. Jesus. You suck.”  
  
“Well, I guess you didn’t explain that very well, did you?” snapped Dean, embarrassment making his face flush pink. Oops.  
  
“I thought it was kinda self-evident,” ground out Sam. “I mean, what? You were taking pointers from the skinwalker?”  
  
“No!” Maybe.  
  
Sam pouted and rubbed at his abused throat, where bruises were already popping out, dark and vicious-looking.  
  
Dean sighed, biting his lip and looking apologetic. Unnerved by the silence and lack of ranting, he offered tentatively, “I could just use the pillow on you?”  
  
Sam gaped at him. “Did you just offer to _smother_ me?”  
  
“Uh...no.” Yes.  
  
Sam glowered at him for a few moments before tugging sharply at the comforter to cover himself up with, spilling Dean onto the floor with a muffled squawk in the process. He snatched up the remote and turned on the TV, deliberately ignoring Dean when he peeked over the edge of the mattress.  
  
“Sammy...”  
  
“Dean, I swear, if you ask me to get you off after you just strangled me, I will shove my foot up your ass.”  
  
“Okay, touchy...”  
  
Dean could see from Sam’s eyes that he was actually considering whether or not it was physically possible to insert his entire foot into his brother’s backside, so he beat a hasty retreat to the bathroom, glancing down forlornly at his half-hard cock, bobbing sadly out in front of him.  
  
Moaning to himself about picky little brothers as he turned on the shower spray to jerk off under, he wondered why he even bothered trying to pander to the bitch’s kinks. He’d wanted his air cut off. He’d gotten his air cut off. But had Dean gotten laid? No.  
  
There was no pleasing some people.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Two rim-jobs, three blow-jobs and absolutely no apology whatsoever later, Dean had sucked up enough to Sam for him to consider letting his big brother back near his ass.  
  
When an extremely pent-up Dean had blown his load all over Sam’s balls before getting anywhere near inside him, Sam had pointed and laughed at him for five minutes straight, and Dean had decided to give breathplay another try. An alarm clock to the head, a trip to the emergency room and five stitches had convinced them both that it was probably a kink best left alone.  
  
However, at least something good had come out of it.  
  
As the Appalachian demi-god wrapped its bony hands around Sam’s throat, he saw red. Before it had firmed up his grip, he headbutted it forcefully and shot his hand out to the side, snatching up his lead-bullet-loaded shotgun. After two seconds, a shocked wail and a pretty gross explosion of blood and skull and brains, it was history.  
  
Sam shoved it off him and leaped to his feet, kicking its corpse for good measure.  
  
As he stomped off towards the Impala, Dean grinned to himself. Finally, he could stop worrying about Sam’s unfortunate knack for getting strangled every five minutes.  
  
He looked at the bloody remains of the demi-God and shrugged. “Could have been worse, buddy. You mighta ended up with a giant foot up your ass...”  
  
Which, for the record, was _not_ physically possible, nor pleasant for anyone concerned.  
  
  
  
THE END


End file.
